By Stanley Collymore
I get bored and depressed sometimes, not because
I’m physically ill or there’s anything mentally
wrong with me since I’m fully compos
mentis as any human being can be;
simply that as a widowed person
resident on my own and over the age of sixty there
are those who quite inexcusably assume, either
in their derisive arrogance or a case of rank
stupidity, that with me living on my own
and being the age that I am these two
reasons alone indisputably render
me as someone, who must, of
course, be definitely boring
or otherwise in dire need
of constant supervision
and relevantly, at all
costs, be distinctly
and unreservedly
left on my own.
A situation that is nakedly prevalent nowadays
and quite despondently so that several of us
senior citizens, and regrettably a goodly
number among them that I casually
know, are similarly like me obligatorily and
debasingly subjected to this overbearing
opprobrium and subsequently in such
perturbing circumstances have no
surrogate option, other than to
unenthusiastically succumb.
Naturally prompting the evident question: Why is
it then that other cultures globally and even
some within white Caucasian, western
societies can succeed in caringly
and ethically looking after their elderly
citizens, something, which when it
comes to the United Kingdom
as well as Northern Ireland
is disgustingly lacking
and totally foreign?
© Stanley V. Collymore
1 November 2019.